


Punch-Drunk

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bloodplay, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Fingerfucking, Gender or Sex Swap, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderbending, Kinda, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: Drift finally lands a punch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyarorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyarorin/gifts).



> Posting another fic I'd kept back on twitter. BE FREE NOW MY CHILD. Nah but really this is just playing my favorite "sparring becomes sex" trope with these two. ;)

Despite Drift’s general contempt of Wing’s challenge, they still competed vigorously. How could they not, when it seemed the only way to get themself out of this wretched place?

 

And the temptation to vent their frustration with Wing’s (ridiculously pretty) face and her effortless skill and fragging charm was too much for them to resist. But this was slowly starting to add to their frustrations -- two weeks and they hadn’t so much as tickled Wing’s shoulder plating, let alone landed a blow.

 

Worst of all, Wing seemed to think this was all very amusing.

 

Drift growled as they fell to the ground again, tossed aside so easily by Wing. They sported a nasty snarl, one that showed off their fangs and normally made Decepticons and Autobots familiar with Deadlock’s reputation think twice about moving against them. 

 

Wing chuckled softly. “There’s the fierce Decepticon,” she taunted. 

 

Drift narrowed their optics. “You really gotta add insult to injury?” 

 

Shaking her helm, Wing planted her hands on her hips. “That was teasing, not an insult.” Drift snorted, as though they didn’t see much of a difference in this case. Wing sighed, rocking her weight onto one leg. “No, I mean it. That fire and determination come naturally to you… most bots I’ve known have to struggle for it.”

 

“Good for me,” Drift grumbled. Nothing was going to dent their foul mood. 

 

Wing strode forward. “Maybe we should stop for the day.” Her voice was gentle, soothing, unpresuming -- Drift hated it.

 

“No,” Drift said stubbornly, clenching their fists. 

 

Wing paused, but soon stepped forward again, smiling. “Come on -- you’re tired and frustrated. You’ll feel better after some energon…”

 

Growling again, Drift felt a familiar white-hot rage burn if just for a moment. “I said,  _ no _ !” This was punctuated by a loud, but deeply satisfying  _ CRACK. _ They’d punched Wing right in the face and was already feeling soreness in their knuckles; it had been a cheap shot and Drift might feel bad about that later, but right now they were more interested in the fact that energon was streaming steadily down Wing’s face. Drift had hit the spot where nasal ridge met faceplate just right.

 

Wing herself seemed bemused, as though the blow had stunned her. It seemed that, for once, Drift had surprised her.

 

Finally, Wing focused her gaze on Drift, and they felt an odd twinge of nervousness, despite Wing appearing as calm as ever when she tilted her helm. “Well,” she said.

 

This time, when Wing took another step in, Drift took one backwards. Far from an apology, they simply insisted: “I said no.”

 

“That you did,” Wing acknowledged. She took another step -- so did Drift. She smiled, gold optics glittering. “One would almost think you enjoyed it.”

 

Drift took another step back and found they were crowded against a wall, but still they snorted indignantly at Wing’s words. “Enjoyed what? Fighting you is apparently the only entertainment a prisoner around here can get.”

 

Wing stepped in again, until their fields were damn near one. “You aren’t a prisoner,” she replied. 

 

Drift rolled their optics. “Right. I just can’t leave or even explore the city without you or some other nosy fragger following me.”

 

Wing elected to ignore this -- even in the short time they’d known each other, it had become a tired argument -- and instead snagged Drift’s wrists in her own. “You didn’t answer my question,” she murmured.

 

“What question?” they spat.

 

“Do you enjoy being tossed around?”

 

Before Drift could answer, she’d hauled them bodily over her shoulder and flipped them so that they landed flat on their back -- hard. Drift blinked dazedly -- well, they deserved that much, surely. Wing was on them again, pinning them to the floor, and hovering this way some of the dripping energon splattered on their own faceplates. 

 

Drift couldn’t help it; they lapped up the droplets closest to their mouth, hungry and frustrated in more ways than one. Wing watched them with interest and it at least brought Drift back to reality. With a snarl, they bucked their weight, almost succeeding in rolling her.

 

Almost. 

 

Without seeming to struggle at all, Wing had Drift pinned again. “Can’t get enough?” she teased. “You got one punch on me, is that it?”

 

Drift growled again, freeing their arms with an almighty tug and grabbing the sides of Wing’s helm. But instead of bashing their helms together or any other violent move in their repertoire, they pulled Wing down into a very frenzied and hungry kiss. 

 

Much to Drift’s surprise, Wing responded in kind -- in fact, she became just as domineering as she was on the sparring deck, and Drift could hardly say they were disappointed. After a few moments of those kisses, desperate and greedy, Wing grabbed Drift’s wrists again and had them pinned on the floor. Or rather, one hand pinned both of theirs, the other traced down Drift’s frame to rest very pointedly right between their legs.

 

Drift swallowed. They’d never seen her look so beautiful -- or dangerous. It gave them a hot shiver right to their core. 

 

She kept an iron grip on their wrists, watching Drift as her fingertips simply stroked their panel. As worked up as Drift was from the sparring and everything else, they didn’t resist long. Soon their equipment was open to Wing’s touch, and again, she wasted no time. Instantly, Drift felt one digit probing inside their port, feeling out the charged nodes, and eliciting a purr from Wing when Drift let out a short, strangled moan.

 

“You’re so proud,” she murmured. “I love that. But there’s no loss of pride in submitting to pleasure…”

 

Drift huffed. “You talk too much for a frag.”

 

Wing tsked and now steadily pushed two fingers into their port. But she was also giving them a look Drift had seen often, as though worried or concerned about something. They normally found that irritating but right now, Drift was hard put to focus on anything that wasn’t the steady thrust of Wing’s fingers into their valve.

 

Ever so gently, Wing shifted her hand, pushing her thumb against Drift’s anterior node. They gasped, electric heat and pleasure jolting through their circuits. “Wing,” they breathed. Drift would never last long with that, and Wing hadn’t even opened her own panels!

 

“Yes?” Wing practically cooed at them.

 

Drift felt their cheeks flushing and not just from the charge. “If you keep that up…”

 

“Yes?” she teased again, optics glittering.

 

Drift huffed, annoyed, but still writhing under Wing’s touch. “I’m gonna -- ” they gasped, charge flickering wildly through their field, “overload… without you…”

 

Wing gave their one of those strange looks again, but then she smirked as she leaned in. “Good,” she purred. “I want to see you overload. A  _ lot. _ ”

 

Drift’s lips parted but nothing left them save a hot gasp as Wing sped her motions, pushing Drift ever closer to climax. She squeezed their wrists, still held in a strong grip above their head, relentlessly thrusting her fingers over primed nodes or pinching their anterior node, until Drift let out a soft cry and arced off the floor, overload rippling through their frame and crackling off the charge racing over Wing’s own plating.

 

Panting, Drift stared up at Wing, looking a little perplexed, but too winded to care voicing any of their thoughts. 

 

That is, until Wing started rifling through her subspace for something. Drift arched an optic ridge. “What are you -- ?” 

 

Wing hummed as she pulled out a long strip of fabric, her optics glinting again. Drift frowned, until they recognized it as part of that strange costume she’d worn above on the planet’s surface. Most of it had burned away, except for this, which had appeared rougher and clearly had been more durable. The flier chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to see more overloads?” She grinned. “But I’d like the use of both my hands… unless you have any objections?”

 

Drift snorted, letting out a rush of hot air from their vents. “Didn’t know you were into that kinda thing,” they remarked.

 

Wing hummed. “Are you?”

 

Drift bit their lip with one of their sharp denta. “Try me and find out.” Which was as close as they’d get to an enthusiastic yes. 

 

Wing just chuckled again. “That I shall.” And without further ado, she leaned in and bound Drift’s wrists with an ease that said she’d most definitely done this before. 

 

Whatever Drift expected next, it certainly wasn’t for Wing to grab their behind their knees and spread their legs wider as she slipped down their frame. At that point, words were lost on Drift -- they seemed stunned… until Wing press her lips to Drift’s port. Even then, it was just a shuddering, almost wondrous murmur of her name.

 

It was rare that they experienced this act, and they were sure the only person they’d shared it with before was lost to them forever. And then there was Wing, licking delicately between their folds, completely unaware what a shock or a treat this was.

 

Or maybe she did know. Either way it didn’t matter, because the result was the same: that pretty arch in Drift’s back as they squirmed in pleasure, whining and moaning, tugging at the bonds tying their wrists together. They cursed breathlessly.

 

Drift was sure they could feel Wing smile against their port. Frag.

 

The next few moments (however long they were, time seemed to have lost all meaning) were sheer bliss, and too much for Drift to pick apart the sensations -- just the impression of Wing’s clever glossa on nodes already full of charge again, gentle kisses or light suction on their anterior node, her gentle but strong hands holding onto their hips to keep them from squirming  _ too _ far away… it all built to a crescendo again too easily, thundering in their audios as charge peaked in their frame again and drew another breathless cry in overload.

 

Feeling twice as hot now, Drift panted, hardly moving except for the twitching plating on their frame. Their optics stayed offline for the moment, the hot, hazy afterglow making them feel like they were floating faraway.

 

But they looked when they felt Wing’s weight shift, optics bleary but coming into focus as Wing leaned in. They blinked as their helms bumped together, putting them breathtakingly close to Wing’s bright smile -- no less deterred by the drops of lubricant still clinging to her lips. 

 

Wing hummed. “You’re so pretty,” she murmured.

 

Drift snorted, but said nothing. Again, undeterred, Wing tilted her helm and kissed Drift. Tasting themself in her kiss was an interesting sensation to say the least -- not one they disliked. In fact, by this point, it was a lost cause to pretend they didn’t want Wing as much as they did. The kiss they gave in return was hot and hungry.

 

So much for playing it cool.

 

It didn’t matter, of course -- not to Wing -- but they still broke the kiss and stared when they felt Wing shifting again, straddling his waist. Wing laughed again. “You didn’t think I was through with you, did you?”

 

Drift swallowed, licked their lips. “Bring it on.”

 

Optics shining in triumph, Wing simply perched atop Drift, watching their face as her hand crept back to wrap around Drift’s spike. Drift hissed slightly, bucking into Wing’s hand, watching as she effortlessly rode the motion and kept him pinned.

 

Primus that shouldn’t be as hot as it was. Their vision went unfocused again as she began stroking their length, slowly, careful of their overload-sensitive sensors. Drift felt they were going slightly mad, working their hips in gentle circles with Wing’s hand, panting softly, charge beginning to stir in their frame yet again -- speedsters didn’t get their reputations from nowhere. 

 

After some time, they finally began to realize that Wing was grinding her hips slightly on their abdominal plating, her panels open and port dripping hot lubricant on their plating.  _ Scrap _ . Their hands flexed, longing to grab Wing’s hips, to grind them together, closer, but the bonds on their wrists were as sturdy as ever. That denial made them gasp and writhe all the more. “Wing…” they murmured, cheeks burning again with the knowledge of how pitiful a plea it was. How greedy for pleasure could Drift be?

 

But Wing just smiled and hummed, letting the charge from her field wash over them. She didn’t make Drift wait much longer, her optics locked on theirs as she lifted her hips and guided Drift’s spike to the warm, slick entrance of her port. A soft, eager moan slipped from their lips, optics fuzzing a little as she wasted no time in sitting right down on their length. Drift rocked their hips up, gasping, desperate for more.

 

They heard a soft chuckle and made their optics focus, and -- Primus -- there was nothing about Wing that wasn’t incredible, was it? She was grinding and rolling her hips in a gentle, almost maddening rhythm, and still maintained perfect optic contact, all while clearly just as worked up as they were. 

 

Pleasure rolled off her field in waves, feeding the desire burning in Drift’s core. They struggled again with the wrist bonds, wanting so much to touch Wing’s waist, trace it down to her hips, to feel the hypnotic motion under their hands… but it was useless, as they knew -- they just couldn’t help it. 

 

And Wing, at least, seemed to enjoy the frustration and arousal it provoked in them in equal measure. It brought a glint to her optic, making Drift certain that she’d realized what they had: equal parts frustration and arousal was the baseline of their feelings towards her. That, in turn, could frustrate Drift even more -- but their thoughts didn’t linger there.

 

Wing was just too pretty to watch.

 

And to feel; her port squeezed them tightly as she finally  _ (finally) _ picked up the pace, riding them with enthusiasm -- and purpose. They squirmed ever more beneath her, gasping and letting out a few embarrassing mewling sounds as Wing steadily worked them closer to yet another overload.

 

It was like she was gunning to knock them offline!

 

With their optics squeezed shut in this latest burst of pleasure, they didn’t notice Wing lean close over them, until she was nosing at their cheek and making a gentle shushing noise.

 

Had they been whining? Like they weren’t giving her enough blackmail material already! Drift grit their jaw and Wing let out a breathless laugh. 

 

They might have managed to ask what was so funny, but she chose that moment to  _ really _ grind down on their spike, port squeezing and rippling around its length, and her field intermingling with theirs and setting off sparks between them as once again, overload burned through their frame.

 

This time, they hardly even twitched but for panting, intake cycles working overtime -- and an involuntary shiver as they felt the tide of charge signifying Wing’s overload washing over them. She was still leaned over them, and nosed at their audio with a soft hum.

 

After what felt like a small eternity, they opened their optics. 

 

Wing smiled serenely at them -- with that familiar sparkle of mischief in the optics. “Three in a row gonna put you down?” she asked.

 

Drift snorted. “What about you? Just one satisfies you?”

 

Her smile broadened to a grin. “Well, I was planning on more than  _ that _ , but I figured I’d give you a breather,” she said. 

 

The startled mix of eagerness and apprehensiveness on Drift’s features was enough to have her giggling in their audio for what they assured her, several times, was completely excessive.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
